


How to Ruin Your Life in One Easy Step

by sutlers



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-28
Updated: 2010-10-28
Packaged: 2017-10-22 00:07:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sutlers/pseuds/sutlers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thing is, okay, Danny knows that he's a pretty boring lay—he's not all that adventurous, objectively, and he can get kind of neurotic about his technique—because he tries to be careful of people, and that just doesn't necessarily translate to the most scorching of fucks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Ruin Your Life in One Easy Step

**Author's Note:**

> I promised leupagus that I would write her something sexy where Steve was a slut and Danny fucked him all sloppy seconds-like and instead this came out. What the fuck even, I'm so sorry. And apologies to [fallia](http://fallia.dreamwidth.org), who spent hours fishing me out of the wormhole of deformed semicolons.

Thing is, okay, Danny knows that he's a pretty boring lay—he's not all that adventurous, objectively, and he can get kind of neurotic about his technique—because he tries to be careful of people, and that just doesn't necessarily translate to the most scorching of fucks. Girls in college liked him because he never asked for anything too weird, always tried to make sure they had a good time. "You're sweet," said Joan Dietrichson right before she dumped him freshman year, flicking blue hair out of her eyes.

"Sweet," Danny said, rubbing his hand across his forehead. "That's. Awesome."

She smiled. "You just have to figure out what you want."

Which was stupid; Danny knows what he wants: he wants to be a decent guy, he wants to be a good father, a good cop, for people to stop ruining perfectly good food by putting pineapple on it and for Steve McGarrett to stop driving him fucking batshit crazy.

"And when you do," Joan Dietrichson said, "do me a favor and just fucking take it. None of your bullshit."

 

***

It's always easy to tell when Steve has gotten fucked: there's a looseness to his movements, the secret curve of a smile when he thinks no one is looking. And it happens a lot—Steve is apparently kind of easy, which was not something Danny would have guessed when they met but in retrospect makes a lot of sense.

"Long night?" Danny asks on a Tuesday morning. Steve has his shirt on backwards. Steve grins.

"My roommate from Annapolis showed up. He's going to be in town for a few days."

"What?" Danny says, watching the way Steve walks: awkwardly. The air in the office is suddenly very close.

Steve doesn't hear him. "Did we get those results back from the lab yet?" Steve asks the room at large.

"Yes, and a search warrant to go with them," Kono says, waving it in the air.

Then they're all out the door and breaking into warehouses and afterwards Steve says, "Hey, tonight, the game at my place? You can meet Scott."

"No thanks, I've got, uh," Danny says, "plans."

 

***

Danny's life has always been about priorities, about compartmentalization, and maybe sometimes it's been a problem but mostly it's worked out all right. Everyone has to make choices. He can't stop being a cop any more than he can stop being Grace's father—he'd thought that about being Rachel's husband once, before he realized that she deserved so much more than what he could spare her. For a while he wished she had pushed more, had demanded more from him, but it was obvious that the effort exhausted her. Some people could bulldoze their way into Danny's life effortlessly just by virtue of existing.

 

***

Choices have consequences, is the thing Steve doesn't understand. Everything you do has the potential to come back and bite you, whether it's the public defender riding your ass about fruits of the poisonous tree, or blasting your way through all of society's carefully constructed barriers, all of Danny's carefully constructed barriers, like the one between his job and his family, his friends and whatever Steve is. That's the part that Danny has a hard time thinking about; he has a hard time considering Steve his friend, exactly, because that's not really the word for someone who drives you to rage blackouts nearly every day and then does something as ridiculous, as gracious as booking you a weekend at a five-star hotel so your daughter can play with dolphins.

Danny has a hard time watching Steve fuck his way through what feels like everyone Steve has been acquainted with at some point in his life, and he doesn't even know— _what_ , Danny thinks viciously, signing his last report so hard that he rips a hole clean through it. "You know, jackass," he says out loud to his empty office, "there was a time when you considered yourself straight, too." The door slams.

"Hey," Steve says, poking his head in, "what the hell are you still doing here?"

"Paperwork," Danny says, flipping him the bird. "What about you?"

"Forgot my cell phone." Steve holds it up. "You know, whatever it is can probably wait till morning."

"Oh sure," Danny says. "Are you having a good night? Good time with Scott?"

"What's your problem?"

"Have I said anything to indicate I have a problem?"

"Do you have some kind of problem with Scott?"

"Fuck off."

"Jealous?" Steve says.

 

***

The one thing Danny isn't proud of is that he spent so long fucking Rachel even after it was clear things were falling apart, like having sex meant there was still something between them besides the acid burn of resentment. It was part of the reason he didn’t fight for custody even though she’d started screwing Stan before they even separated—coming home freshly showered, defensive, incandescent with anger. Their shouting matches lasted for what felt like hours and once, the last time, she called Danny a selfish impotent bastard. He told her to get fucked, let her shove him down and touched every mark on her with his mouth, his fingers, but didn’t make any of his own. She served him with papers the next day.

 

***

"Danny," Steve says, urgent, and Danny realizes he hasn't said anything for at least a minute and a half. Steve still looks like someone has punched him in the face, standing in front of Danny's desk with his hands down by his sides.

"Danny," Steve says again, and Danny says, "I didn't know you fucked guys." Steve makes a quiet sound, a hint of red staining the ridge of his cheekbones. He watches Danny carefully as Danny stands and makes his way around to the other side of the desk; Steve turns so they're facing each other, the backs of Steve's thighs flush against the wood. Danny touches two fingers against Steve's jugular and follows it down, dipping them under the collar of Steve's t-shirt where he can see the edge of a purpling mark that could be an injury, could be a love bite.

"What if I wanted to—" Danny says.

" _Please_ ," Steve says hoarsely and Danny meets his eyes: they're completely blown, pitch black. Steve's legs open easily, eagerly around him when Danny presses forward and he groans when Danny bites his lower lip, when Danny rucks his t-shirt up under his armpits so he can run greedy hands all over Steve's skin. Danny pinches a nipple and Steve arches; Danny's pens clatter to the floor, followed by paper, fluttering more slowly. "Fuck," Danny mutters, exhaling shakily against Steve's sternum. "Turn over."

A splash of ink spreads across Steve's lower back like a surprise, slipping beneath the waist of Steve's pants; Danny pushes them down to see how far it goes and kisses the bare curve of Steve's ass, fills his nose with the damp soap smell and asks, "Did he fuck you before you came here?"

"I didn't know—" Steve starts, shuddering when Danny nudges his legs even further apart, discarding Steve's flip-flops and pulling Steve's pants off. Danny's thumb catches on the rim of Steve's asshole and slides right in; Steve whines but Danny barely hears it over the roaring in his ears. Steve is loose, swollen, and Danny slips into a kind of fugue state—it's the only way he can explain what he does next, which is replace his thumb with his tongue; "Oh fuck," Steve says, jerking against the desk, "Danny."

Steve comes swearing, one hand crammed between the desktop and his cock, fucking himself on Danny's tongue. Danny leans back on his haunches, breathless, watches the imprints of his fingers on Steve's thighs flood with red.

"Danny, Danno," Steve says, pulling him up, kissing him open and dirty with his hand molded over the front of Danny's pants. Danny bucks up into it. "I'm gonna, I'm gonna,"

"Take me home," Danny says.

"Yeah, yes, come on," says Steve.


End file.
